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Franklin Shaw
= Personality = Old Frank's one of those men that just has something about him. People laugh at his jokes, tell him their worries, and just generally feel at ease around the man. Young women admire the silver in his hair, young men listen to his stories, and he never turns away a cheerful audience. The feel of a firelit twilight, scented with fragrant smoke and old wood, flavored with laughter and music, just seems to follow the man around. = Sheet = Attributes: : Physical: Strength 3, Dexterity 3, Stamina 3(4) : Social: Charisma 4, Manipulation 3, Appearance 3 : Mental: Perception 3, Intelligence 3, Wits 2 Abilities: : Talents: Athletics 1, Brawl 1, Empathy 3, Expression 3, Persuasion 3, Resistance 3 : Skills: Crafts (Painting, Sculpture) 2, Drive (Cars) 1, Etiquette 1, Meditation 1, Performance (Fiddle, Pennywhistle, Singing) 3 : Knowledges: Academics (Epic Myth) 2, Enigmas 2, Finance 1, Lore (Dreaming) 2, Occult 2 Advantages: : Arts: Primal 2, Soothsay 3 : Realms: Actor 3, Fae 1, Nature 1, Prop 2 : Glamour: 3 : Banality: 5 : Backgrounds: Chimera 3, Dreamers 3, Resources 2, Remembrance 2 : Virtues: Conscience 4, Self Control 2, Courage 4 : Willpower: 5 : Merits: Poetic Heart 3, Mansion 3 : Flaws: Ward 3 Freebies +3 Attributes (15) +4 Abilities (8) +2 Arts (10) +2 Realms (6) +3 Backgrounds +6 Merits -3 Flaws = 45 Spent Musing Threshold Watching children (that is, anyone under 30) at play. Frequently extends this to the Reveries he inspires among his "kids," because what brings more unadulterated joy than an artist giving form to the beauty in their heart? Specialties ; Charisma (Warm) : Maybe it's the laugh-lines around his eyes, or the way he smiles, slow and easy. It's not hard at all to just settle nearby and relax... ; Background: Dreamers : Various artists that Frank's taken under his wing. Painters, sculptors, musicians, dancers, writers... None famous, all trying their hardest to make the world a more beautiful place. ; Merit: Mansion : It's taken time and some finagling with financing and suchlike, but Frank's finally managed to do what he always wanted: Open up a sort of artists' commune. ; Flaw: Ward : There is very little Frank won't do to maintain the comfort and safety of his "children," the young artists he houses and cares for. Chimerical Companion ; Ha'ahashtari: :* Strength 1, Dexterity 3, Stamina 2 :* Charisma 2, Manipulation 2, Appearance 2 :* Perception 4, Intelligence 2, Wits 3 Dodge 3, Scrounging 1, Sensitivity 1, Vigilance 2, Stealth 2 Glamour: 4 Willpower: 1 2 Health Levels ; Redes :; Wyrd :: A chimera that invokes this Rede becomes a solid creature in the real world and can cause physical damage. This is one of the rarest chimerical powers. :* Chimera Point Cost: 5 :* Use Cost: 1 Willpower per scene Advancement Advancement History = Background = The biggest regret most adults have is that they didn't take advantage of their youth while they still had it. The rambunctious years of charging around the neighborhood without a care in the world, of forgetting things like school and homework because the wind caught some leaves outside the window and invited them to dance. Looking back, they think of so much they would have done, if only they'd known how it would end up. But some of them look back, and instead of sighing and moping about things lost, they think of things that might be given. Franklin was an exuberant child, full of laughter and energy, but that's true of so many at that age. He showed some talent for music and singing, but nothing extraordinary. Merely a tendency to sing along when some piece of music caught his ear, or when a particular bird lifted its voice nearby, or any number of things. It made his parents smile, his friends laugh, and that was all there was to it. As the years marched on, Frank found less and less time to sing, found himself busier and busier. The storm of adolescence not only set his mind and moods to whirling, it turned his very voice against him, bringing further confusion and frustration to an already volatile mix. He couldn't focus on his schoolwork, couldn't seem to remember the cautions and reprimands of his elders, couldn't seem to focus on anything except whatever urge had caught him by the neck and dragged him off. It all came to a startling conclusion one night, in the back seat of a senior girl's car. Tests and reports and curfews were far from the young man's mind, shoved out of the way by the smell of the girl in his arms, the feel of her hair and skin under his hands, the taste of her against his lips. The world seemed almost to come apart in a whirlwind of sensation... In a way, it did. The poor girl was caught up in the young satyr's Chrysalis, drowned with him in a phanstasmic sea of overloaded sensations and heightened passions. It was pure luck that they had found such a good hiding spot for the car and that the upholstery wasn't damaged in the throes of their passion. As it was, both of them were walking a little funny the next day and sporting some truly fascinating bruises, both of which their respective friends gave them no end of ribbing over. But for young Frank, the funny walk wasn't just the result of overexertion. It's an interesting experience, learning how to deal with goat hooves when before all you had to worry about were tests and acne. The local Changelings found him before too long, a few being fellow students at his school, and even one teacher! They taught him about this strange new world he found himself within, about the "heritage" of his kith and what it meant to be fae. His parents had no idea, being unable to tell one group of the boy's friends from another, but since he didn't seem to be in with a bad crowd, they didn't even try to pry into the details of this new gathering of youth that sometimes descended on their son and carried him off on adventures. If only they knew what sorts of adventures were involved. Days passed, the years turned, and Franklin grew into his horns and hooves. He remembered his name, swimming back to him through the Mists, and became something of a fixture at the local court. The young bard Dochrohan, laughing and singing and dancing like his kith were wont to do. But his dance had less of the burning heat of his peers'. Instead, it was more a thing of simple joy, delighting in the dance itself instead of treating it as a simple means to an end. Not to say that he turned away from the pleasures of the flesh, but simply took them all in due course. There was no rush in this endless summer of youth... But the year waits for nothing. Not even the laughter of children. One by one, Dochrohan watched his friends drift away. Some fell to the grip of Banality, drowning once more in the Mists. Others simply left for other places, other courts. And, in the end, it was his turn. He undertook college for an art degree, unsure of exactly what he was doing or where he was going with it, but knowing that he needed to do something. He found a few other fae on campus, and they helped each other remember what it meant to dream, amid all the stress and fear of a modern college. A few succumbed, a few new faces arose in their place, and the years turned. He's not entirely sure how it happened. A girl he'd been seeing, a Dreamer he'd been cultivating, hit it big in an art showing, her paintings catching the eye of a major sponsor. Before they knew it, she was... well, not rich, but solvent and with more cash on the way. They celebrated, and he ended up with some of her funds through a somewhat haphazard arrangement where it wasn't really sure if he was her manager, her assistant, or what. But it worked. This happened several times, over the years, though the perspective shifted somewhat as Dochrohan grew older. No longer was he just the boytoy with the good ideas. Now he was one of the sponsors that fed the starving artist until they could get their feet under themselves, though he wasn't really certain how that happened, either. It's not like he did anything special with the money, just didn't waste it or do anything too terribly stupid. Maybe it had to do with how well he and his clients, his Dreamers, seemed to get along. As good an explanation as any, for the old (by fae standards) satyr. But it made him think. Up until now, he'd been living life as it came at him, piece by piece, bite by bite. And he'd been tending those Dreamers he could reach as he found them... but what if he gathered them to him? Started a garden of sorts? He had to withdraw somewhat from Changeling society to get things done properly, though he never forgot why he was doing it. Always kept the Dreaming close to hand, kept the sweet taste of Glamour on his tongue. Investments were tended with all the care of delicate flowers, young artists full of ideas and hope given the same gentle touch, where he could manage it. A word or three of advice here, a couch and a meal there, a few dollars where they'd do he most good. He was a regular around the Art department of that particular campus, though he hadn't taken classes in over a decade. All the professors knew him, most of the students as well, and few were those that were unhappy to see him. Nobody was really sure just what it was he did for a living, but they were all sure it wasn't anything unsavory. He was just such a nice guy, after all... It's taken years, and effort, but finally the dream has been made a reality. A big old house, in good enough condition, in a nice enough neighborhood, in a growing city called Crystal Springs. Perhaps here, his children could blossom without fear of going hungry or sleeping in the cold. Perhaps here, with the Market and the open sky, he could sit in the fading sunlight and watch the rest of his days as a satyr wander past. With a smile, as always. Relationships Logs = Misc = Dochrohan's picked up a tendency to write in Tengwar, the elvish script developed by Tolkein. Many people don't realize this is where he got the script and he often allows them to go on thinking that it's something he's remembering from Arcadia. He just thinks it looks pretty. Category:Satyrs Category:Seelie Category:Changeling PCs Category:Current PCs